By Him that died on a tree! Shall he never in green wood be, Nor longer dwell with me!" Soon there were good bows ybent, Mo than seven score; Hedge ne ditch spare they none That were them before. "I make mine avow to God," said ROBIN, "The Knight would I fain see; And if I may him take, Yquit then shall it be!" And when they came to Nottingham They walked in the street, And with the proud Sheriff ywis Soon gan they meet. "Abide, thou proud Sheriff!" he said, "Abide, and speak with me! Of some tidings of our King I would fain hear of thee! This seven year, by dear-worthy God! Ne yede I so fast on foot; I make mine avow to God, thou proud Sheriff! That it is not for thy good." ROBIN bent a good bow, An arrow he drew at his will; He hit so the proud Sheriff, Upon the ground he lay full still: And or he might up arise, On his feet to stand; He smote off the Sheriff's head, With his bright brand. "Lie thou there, thou proud Sheriff! Evil might thou thrive! There might no man to thee trust, The whiles thou wert alive!" His men drew out their bright swords, That were so sharp and keen, And laid on the Sheriff's men And drived them down bydene. ROBIN started to that Knight, And cut a two his bond; And took him in his hand a bow, And bade him by him stand. "Leave thy horse thee behind, And learn for to run! Thou shalt with me to green wood Through mire, moss, and fen! Thou shalt with me to green wood Without any leasing, Till that I have got us grace Of EDWARD, our comely King." +The seventh fytte.+